You're Mine
by xXSuzuXx
Summary: Incest warning, ConHayth in which Connor marks Haytham.


"How many times must I tell you, Connor," Hissed Haytham, "Not where others can see."

Connor bristled, half amused and half irritated. "Why?" He asked, "They should know that you belong to me." And he continued nibbling at his father's collar, ignoring the protestant little shoves he gave.

Sighing, Haytham tilted his head to the side, betraying his pleasure. "I do not… belong to anyone." He breathed, "Much less you."

The younger stood back suddenly, glaring at his father. "Haytham…" He growled first, but as an idea popped into his head, he smirked instead. "We'll see about that."

Immediately suspicious, Haytham arched a brow, arms folding over his chest. "What is that supposed to mean, Connor? What are you planni-"

"Come with me." Interrupted Connor, grabbing Haytham's wrist and pulling him along the streets until they reached the inn he had been staying at, all the while ignoring the questions and protests Haytham sputtered out at him, thoroughly confused, but suspicious of the young man's sudden outburst.

He tugged his father up to his room, shut the door hard behind them and took extra care to lock the door before simply flinging Haytham toward the bed, where the man stumbled back, tried to regain his balance, failed and fell back onto the bed with a grunt. Without hesitation, Connor followed, using his bodyweight to his advantage to keep Haytham down, pinning his legs beneath his weight and trapping the man's wrists in his hands.

"What are you doing, boy?" Spat Haytham.

"Showing you that you belong to me." Replied Connor, simply. He took both his father's wrists in one hand and pinned them above his head, trying to undo the buttons on his clothes for a moment before giving up and simply tugging them free, up and over his head.

Haytham struggled, however uselessly and perhaps not so much as to actually be attempting to escape. Perhaps he didn't truly want to. But the thought did not so much as cross his mind as Connor began nibbling at his neck again, smirking against his skin as if to tell Haytham that he could do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted.

With his chest and throat bared, Connor mouthed along his neck and jaw, biting harshly in some instances and sucking at others leaving a trail of hickeys and bruises. "Connor, stop this." Haytham hissed harshly.

"Despite what you say, father, you seem pretty open to what I'm doing."

Satisfied with what marks he had left upon his father's neck, he moved instead to his torso, tracing the muscles of Haytham's chest with his tongue, nipping playfully and moving on ever downwards, taking less time now than before, knowing he had the grandmaster precisely where he wanted him; squirming and body practically begging for more.

It was then that Connor pulled away, getting to his feet and standing at his full height, looking down at Haytham, whose ribbon had come undone, making his hair splay messily about him. He swallowed, aroused by the sight, but fought to ignore his father's glare that made him want nothing more than to return to him and continue. "Don't look at me like that father, I will be back." He promised.

And he did return, having gotten up only to fetch a candle, still lit from earlier, nearby. He set it down closer to the bed and climbed on again. "On your stomach." He told Haytham who had reluctantly become more complacent. Though he did not fight, Connor still had to move him by force the man too stubborn to admit fully to submission. "It would be nice if you could be more agreeable, for once." He commented, sitting on his father's backside. He was unable to suppress a groan of delight, but fought it.

Instead he reached for the candle, setting the plate it stood in on his father's back and drawing his dagger, heating it over the exposed flame. "Stay still, father, or this will only hurt more."

"Mo-" Haytham began to speak, but as the dagger dug just above his shoulder blade, he cried out in pain, fingers balling into fists around the sheets. "C-Connor, what in the worlds are yo-" He cringed in pain, trembling and cursed himself, inwardly, for taking some sick pleasure in the pain.

"Doing as I said I would, father. Letting you know that you- are- mine." He spaced out the words carefully, pressing his lips to the back of his father's ear, where he was so sensitive. It caused the man to shudder, and he continued.

Slowly, taking moments to heat the blade again, he wrote his name into his father's shoulder. Not the name Achilles had given to him, years ago, but the one his mother had given to him. His true name. As he did, Haytham bit into the sheets to muffle his cries of pain, but did not fight with the dagger in him, knowing it would only cause him more pain.

Finally, Connor withdrew the blade fully, used his father's discarded clothes to wipe away the blood fully and set both the weapon and candle aside. He looked down for a long while, while Haytham shuddered and tried not to whimper at the pain, simply admiring his work. A scar that would, hopefully, remain forever.

"See, father? Now you truly do belong to me." He said at last and leaned in to kiss the base of his neck. "To me and me alone."


End file.
